Boarding School Diary

As if they thought we wouldn’t notice, as if because we were youngwe didn’t have eyes. And yet those two were flagrantand left their door wide open so that when we walked bywe could see the little pretty one who taught nothingand was maybe stupid lying back on the bed in her half slip and braand the big blond history teacher with the beefy face
whom we all were afraid of, bending over her with arms wide,hands spread on either side like a man in a movie.

Three nights a week the homely one chaperoned us to study hallin the library and then led us back thorough the dark to the dormwhere with a smile and a finger on her lips she’d stopand pick up a few pebbles and throw them lightly at the window;and when we asked her why, she smiled wider, lips stretchedover her yellowed teeth, and said it was a game.We noticed all right, we girls in our loneliness,our friendships, our school books, and in our rooms we giggled overthe two grown women on the bed like that. It didn’t occur to us to call them anything---we didn’t have a name.

I was more worried about breasts, mine hadn’t grown like the others---was I going to be a girl all my life? And Elvis, whom I dreamed about, that raspy voice whispering in my ear, his hands leaving the guitarto touch me here and there. Once a week, on Sunday nights,I waited for the phone call from the air force boy I’d kissedin my parents’ living room until I couldn’t stand his cigarette breath. I saw his face everywhere, watching me, wanting me.